Will this be Osborne's worst week yet?

A higher deficit and a triple-dip recession could make this week even worse for the Chancellor than the last one.

Even by recent standards, last week was not a good one for George Osborne. Unemployment was found to have increased by 70,000, the IMF's chief economist warned that he was "playing with fire" by persisting with austerity, Carman Reinhart and Kenneth Rogoff, two of the economists that the Chancellor leant heavily on to justify his economic approach, had their research on debt and growth discredited, and Fitch became the second credit rating agency to strip the UK of its AAA rating

But worse could be to come this week. Tomorrow, borrowing figures for March will be released, the final set for the 2012-13 financial year, and, for the first time since Osborne entered office, they could show that the deficit has risen in annual terms. At the Budget, the OBR forecast that borrowing would be £120.9bn in 2012-13, £100m less than in 2011-12, after the Treasury forced government departments to underspend by an extraordinary £10.9bn in the final months of this year and delayed payments to some international institutions such as the UN and the World Bank. But that £100m difference leaves the Chancellor with little room for error if tax revenues fall short or spending is higher than expected. Whether the deficit marginally rose or fell in 2012-13 is of little economic significance, but it is of immense political significance. Until now, even as growth has disappeared, the Chancellor has been able to boast that borrowing "is falling" and "will continue to fall each and every year". A higher deficit would make it far harder for him to claim that Britain is "on the right track".

Then, two days later, we will learn whether the UK has suffered its first-ever triple-dip recession when the ONS releases its estimate for GDP in Q1 of this year. Again, the Chancellor is expected to have a lucky escape, with most forecasters, in common with the OBR, predicting output of around 0.1 per cent. But that also leaves Osborne with little room for comfort if growth undershoots expectations (as it done so often has in recent history). IPPR's senior economist Tony Dolphin comments: "It is touch and go whether we triple dip, I would say 50/50. Retail sales were up a fraction in March, but manufacturing is expected to be flat and ­construction down. Services will be positive, but the question is whether it will be positive enough to offset construction." Again, whether output slightly grew or slightly shrank in the first quarter is of little economic signifinance. The broad picture is one of prolonged stagnation, with periods of growth alternating with periods of contraction. But as Osborne will know, it's the politics that matter. An unprecedented triple-dip would intensify the calls from all sides - Tory backbenchers, Vince Cable, Labour - for a change of approach, be it Keynesian stimulus or a supply-side revolution. 

There is one way that Osborne could avoid a triple-dip even if the economy is found to have shrunk in Q1: the preceding double-dip could be revised away. After previously estimating that output fell by 0.3 per cent in the final quarter of 2011, the ONS now says it fell by just 0.1 per cent. The number could be further upgraded this week. But such technicalities will count for little if the economy is reported to have shrunk again. 

Tory MPs previously suggested that they would demand the removal of Osborne if the economy failed to show signs of recovery by this time, with one telling the Daily Mail: "You wouldn’t get 80 people supporting Adam Afriyie for leader but you might get 80 or 100 people saying get rid of George." There is little prospect of Cameron acquiescing to such demands. The Prime Minister and his closest political ally continue to rise and fall together. But with the local elections just over a week away and Labour showing signs of strain, a renewed bout of Tory infighting would be unwelcome for Cameron. 

Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne attends a press conference at the Treasury in Whitehall on February 6, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt